


Tangerine Chamomile (You're My Number One)

by Fukurujoshi



Series: Protect the Maknae [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oh Sehun-centric, Sleepy Cuddles, also chanbaek, hints of kaisoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fukurujoshi/pseuds/Fukurujoshi
Summary: In which both Sehun and Junmyeon are very much Not Okay, but everything works out in the end.





	Tangerine Chamomile (You're My Number One)

Sehun has always been a little bit selfish.

Not so much over possessions though. Usually, it’s over people.

The first one to bear the brunt of Sehun’s apparently insatiable need for physical contact and reassurance was Jongin. Initially it was okay, because Jongin is almost as tactile as Sehun, but then Kyungsoo entered the picture. Kyungsoo, with his heart shaped smile and pretty eyes and pretty voice, and quicker than Sehun could blink, Jongin was gone.

Sehun couldn’t even be jealous, or angry, because Jongin and Kyungsoo just clicked. It wouldn’t be fair of Sehun to keep monopolising Jongin, especially not when he had someone as perfect as Kyungsoo. It was completely justifiable that Sehun was no longer high priority. That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but it was okay.

The next was Luhan. And with Luhan, Sehun really thought it would last longer than it did. They were bubble tea and cuddles, and late night talks and inside jokes and unconditional affection and for a while Sehun even wondered whether maybe this time he would be allowed to keep Luhan for himself, even just for a little bit.

Then, of course, Luhan left. That hurt. A lot.

But in the aftermath, when Sehun was caught up trying to figure out exactly what to do with himself and how to stop people leaving him again, there was Junmyeon.

Junmyeon, with a heart bigger than any of them and more love than could ever hope to fit inside, with bright smiles and horrible jokes, and hugs that feel like home. Really, it was inevitable that Sehun would fall. And he did, before he even saw the edge.

 

Junmyeon has always been one of Sehun’s favourite people.

When they were trainees, Junmyeon took on an older-brother-slash-completely-overprotective-parent role towards Sehun, which Sehun had absolutely no problem with whatsoever. But as time passed, and Sehun learned the little things about Junmyeon that you only discover by being a borderline annoyingly clingy person (as Sehun is), he found himself wanting to protect Junmyeon, too.

Because Junmyeon is the type of person who throws himself wholeheartedly into every relationship he has. He constantly puts others before himself. Sehun adores him for it, but also kind of hates it, because it’s a constant struggle to try and convince Junmyeon that while he cares for everyone else, he needs to save a little love for himself, too.

A month before debut, when Sehun’s brain decided that on top of the stress of waking hours, all the late nights in practice rooms and raccoon-eyed exhaustion, it would make sleeping completely undesirable as well, Junmyeon was the first to pick up on it.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering they room together, but it was still a shock to Sehun when Junmyeon cornered him one morning, grabbing his wrist and hauling him back to bed. Upon being commanded to sleep, Sehun spent an agonising half-hour trying to psyche himself into believing that he wouldn’t wake up screaming if he closed his eyes, which ended up being useless because it happened anyway.

Junmyeon, rather than leaving like Sehun though he would, merely curled up ridiculously tight against him, arm thrown over his chest and legs tangled together, and told Sehun to go to sleep again. He did, miraculously, and only woke up when Kyungsoo knocked on the door to see if they were still alive. Junmyeon declared the test a success, and Sehun hasn’t slept alone since.

 

They’re older now, adults instead of teenagers, but Sehun is pretty sure Junmyeon still sees him as a kid. Mostly it’s fine. He’s always needed attention, and Junmyeon never withholds hugs or playful touches, and is an unfailing pillar of support when Sehun’s world is two steps away from crumbling.

But sometimes it’s not fine. It’s not fine when Junmyeon gets back late from the studio, nothing but fatigue and defeat in the hunch of his shoulders, a bleak look in his eyes, yet tries to keep smiling. It’s not fine when Junmyeon isolates himself, pours everything he has into helping other people with no concern for himself, and bottles up all his problems.

It’s especially not fine because those bottles overflow in the middle of the night, when Junmyeon thinks Sehun is asleep, and Sehun can do nothing but lie there while Junmyeon tries desperately to cry quietly. And Sehun has to wake up in the morning and pretend the damp patch of tears on his t-shirt doesn’t exist and the sharp pain in his chest hasn’t expanded so much it’s hard to breathe.

Because while Sehun might love being babied by Junmyeon, smothered in hugs and affection from the only member who will give him attention unconditionally, the one thing he wants more than all of that is to be able to help him. To be seen as someone who Junmyeon can come to and feel safe with as everything falls apart.

Junmyeon has been Sehun’s number one for a long time, and there’s nothing Sehun wants more than to be Junmyeon’s number one, too.

 

<><><>

 

There’s no clock in the practice room, so Sehun has no idea what the time is. His phone died this morning, because Chanyeol took his charger and never gave it back, and then Jongin stole his backup. With the glaring brightness of the white lights overhead though, it’s probably much later than Sehun should be here.

Someone’s blasting music loud enough from the room below that the floor is vibrating, and Sehun is almost tempted to lie down on his back and see if it feels like a massage, but he knows if he does there’s absolutely no hope of him getting up again.

The track playing loops to the beginning, the sudden cut-off making Sehun jolt. Everything feels a little sluggish as he moves to a position where he can pick up the choreo again, and Sehun really regrets not stealing any of Minseok’s coffee when they were together as a group this afternoon.

Jongin was going to stay with him afterwards, so they could run through together, but then something came up. Sehun isn’t sure _what_ exactly, but if it was enough for Jongin to skip extra practice it must have been important. Yixing stayed for a bit instead, and Sehun half wishes he was still here, because he’s always loved dancing with Yixing. But he’s leaving for promotions in China in two days, and god knows he doesn’t need any more stress.

A knock on the door brings Sehun back to himself, and before he can move to open it Junmyeon has poked his head through the gap.

When he steps inside, Sehun’s heart clenches a little, because Junmyeon looks softer than he has any right to. Fluffy hair and sweater paws are a deadly combination, but upon closer inspection Sehun is pretty sure that Junmyeon’s wearing _his_ sweater, which makes it ten times worse.

There’s a gentle, slightly exasperated smile on Junmyeon’s face as he steps closer, opening the door wide behind him. “You ready to go yet, Sehunnie?”

Sehun just stands there for a bit, apparently too tired to fully comprehend what he’s asking, Junmyeon’s smile turning a little bit worried in response. That’s enough to get him moving at least, and Sehun grabs his bag from the corner of the room, eyelids drooping when he stands back up.

Junmyeon turns off the music, and the quiet of the room is startlingly loud in comparison to the constant noise of the past few hours.

“How long have you been in here?” Junmyeon latches an arm around Sehun’s waist as he flicks the lights off, and it burns everywhere it touches. Sehun can’t help himself, and ends up tucking close, an arm of his own around Junmyeon’s shoulders.

“What time is it?” he asks sheepishly, and Junmyeon looks up at him in disbelief.

“Almost twelve. Why?”

“My phone died.”

Junmyeon reaches around to punch him in the ribs, and Sehun coughs out a laugh. “Sorry hyung. Blame Chanyeol.”

Junmyeon mutters under his breath about _stupid children_ and _bad influences_ , before speaking up again “Seriously though, how long were you in there?”

Sehun has to take a minute to think, because the maths side of his brain sort of goes on a half-vacation after sundown and he’s extremely tired, but he gets there eventually.

“About four hours?” Frowning, Sehun looks blankly down at his shoes. Is that right?

A glance at Junmyeon says that if he decides to change his answer it’s probably in his best interests to make it a shorter length of time. Thankfully, Junmyeon decides to spare him a lecture, but the arm around his waist squeezes tighter and there’s a slight disapproving pout on his face.

Sehun is pretty sure he’s not supposed to find that as cute as he does, but he’s long accepted that when it comes to Junmyeon, his brain is a lost cause.

 

The van is waiting for them outside, and for once Sehun can drag Junmyeon to the back seat and not be squished by whatever member wants magical Junmyeon hugs, as always tends to happen after practice. It’s a hazy type of quiet inside, tinted windows blurring the streetlights and cars until the world through the window is little more than a collection of smudges.

Junmyeon’s arm stays firmly around Sehun’s waist, and a warm, fuzzy weight settles in his chest when Junmyeon’s head slips onto his shoulder. Sehun lets his head flop too, into a soft mess of freshly washed hair, and the action makes Junmyeon laugh low in his throat.

He plays with the tattered sleeves of the sweater, running the tips of his fingers along the frayed seams and yeah, it’s definitely Sehun’s. There’s a weirdly shaped tea stain on the bottom hem that no amount of washing has ever been able to remove.

Junmyeon pauses for a second, and then reaches out to pull one of Sehun’s hands into his lap.  Small fingers trace the lines of his palm, brushing light against his skin before threading through Sehun’s fingers to link their hands together. Junmyeon squeezes once before loosening his grip, but Sehun keeps his fingers tight.

“I worry about you, you know that, right?”

It’s Sehun’s turn to squeeze, and he can’t help smiling. “Yes, mom.”

He gets two seconds to breathe before an elbow is shoved into his ribs. Laughing, Sehun tries to dodge the next blow (and fails miserably), before reaching over and trapping the offending arm so that Junmyeon can’t inflict any more damage.

Junmyeon has a disgruntled frown twisting the corners of his mouth down, and it looks so ridiculously similar to the one Kyungsoo gets when people steal food from the kitchen before breakfast that Sehun isn’t even surprised when the next words out of Junmyeon’s mouth are a sour _disrespectful brat._

Holding his arm down, it’s almost too easy for Sehun to manoeuvre Junmyeon onto his lap, so that when Junmyeon finally surrenders he flops forwards and lands with his head in the crook of Sehun’s neck.

“Sorry,” Sehun murmurs, playing with a soft strand of hair, and after a few seconds pause Sehun feels a smile pressed into his collarbones.

“S’all good.”

 

After the van pulls up outside the dorms, it’s a five-minute journey up stairs Sehun doesn’t remember being so long and down a corridor he’s walked at least twice every day for the past five years before they reach the front door.

There are no lights on when they get inside, save for a nightlight outside the bathroom, but Sehun is so tired he could probably fall asleep against the wall so he lets himself be dragged to their bedroom in the dark. Junmyeon, of course, trips over the shoe rack, and Sehun has to catch him while stopping the rack from scraping the floor loud enough to wake everyone up.

It doesn’t even need a question anymore, so once Sehun has flopped into bed, Junmyeon falls straight on top of him about five seconds later. It’s gotten to the stage where Sehun is so exhausted everything is simply unexplainably hilarious, so Sehun spends far too long trying to muffle giggles in Junmyeon’s shoulder before collapsing back into the pillows.

And like he does every night, Junmyeon curls tight around him, solid and safe and warm. He smells like tangerine and chamomile tea, like worn sweaters and late nights, and like he does every night, Sehun wonders why it feels so overwhelmingly _right_ to have Junmyeon there, and why it is that nothing else in the world has ever felt so much like home as Junmyeon does.

 

<><><>

 

Of all the many types of Junmyeon, Sehun is pretty sure morning Junmyeon is his favourite.

On the rare occasions when Sehun happens to wake up first, he’s greeted with Junmyeon splayed out across his chest, head tucked into his shoulder, breathing steady and slow into his collarbones.

He never manages to feel annoyed about waking up as early as he does those mornings, because the sight of a sleepy Junmyeon is enough to make _anyone_ complacent. It’s one of the reasons Junmyeon is always the one to wake Jongin, because even _Kyungsoo_ hasn’t come up with another way to stop Jongin’s personality from resembling that of a very spiky cactus when he first wakes up.

Sehun’s brain also likes convincing itself that it means Junmyeon trusts him. Those mornings are dangerous, because more often than not they happen after a night of Sehun having to restrain himself from punching a wall out of frustration at not being able to help Junmyeon when he breaks down.

And it hurts that much more because somehow, even after a night of soaking a damp patch of tears into Sehun’s t-shirt, Junmyeon can still muster a smile when he lifts his head enough to see Sehun looking down at him, can still blow a thin stream of air onto the one ticklish spot on Sehun’s neck and pull back with a wicked grin when Sehun’s arms come up to shove him off.

And maybe Junmyeon notices how Sehun tends to freeze when he sees those smiles, or maybe he doesn’t, Sehun’s not sure. It’d be almost impossible to miss, but Junmyeon is oblivious to the most obvious things sometimes. Whatever it is, Sehun isn’t about to stop – isn’t sure he’d be able to, even if he was asked.

Because Junmyeon has always been unbearably beautiful, but Junmyeon in the mornings is a special type of beauty – sleep-soft and warm, hair an absolute mess and cheeks puffy from sleep, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs and an oversized t-shirt (Sehun’s) that’s easily large enough to slip off one shoulder.

He’s small, pretty smiles, crinkled eyes and tired yawns, and absent-minded fingers tracing feather-light over the dips and curves of Sehun’s face.

There’s a special type of pain that comes from seeing Junmyeon in the mornings, too, because there’s an aching sort of depth to his eyes after a night spent stifling tears that Sehun can never forget, even when Junmyeon puts on his brightest smile, his warmest laugh, and it’s getting dangerously close to the point where Sehun can’t bear to stay silent anymore.

 

<><><>

 

Breaking point comes three days later.

Sehun is on the couch, slumped in a corner with a disgustingly mushy Chanyeol and Baekhyun on the other end, when the front door opens. Dragging his attention away from the reality show playing on screen, Sehun focuses on the noise in the hallway just in time to wince as whoever it is runs into the shoe rack.

Junmyeon. Definitely Junmyeon.

Standing up, Sehun moves to greet him in the doorway, but Junmyeon beats him to it, throwing a tired smile at Chanyeol and Baekhyun before looking up at Sehun. At first glance, he looks almost normal. But Sehun has known Junmyeon long enough that he can’t be fooled by the mask he puts up, and when Sehun looks closer there’s something raw, almost defeated in Junmyeon’s eyes, and it’s a physical struggle for Sehun to stop himself from dragging Junmyeon away immediately and making him talk.

The evening is an exercise in torture. Junmyeon, despite his best efforts to make everyone think otherwise, is very much Not Okay. He’s retreated into himself, curled tight in a protective shell, and it strikes Sehun during dinner exactly how small Junmyeon really is. It’s in the slight hunch of his shoulders, the tight, worried lines of his mouth and forehead, and a piece of Sehun shatters when Junmyeon catches his eye over the table and tries to smile.

Back in their bedroom, while Sehun is debating over whether to bring it up now or wait until the middle of the night, Junmyeon walks in. He looks so agonisingly _fragile_ , and Sehun hates that he can’t do anything but open his arms and wonder whether maybe, if he holds Junmyeon tight enough, he can keep him from breaking.

Once the lights are out, it’s a waiting game. Sehun knows how to make it seem like he’s asleep, and with Junmyeon currently attempting to squeeze him half to death, he doubts Junmyeon will be paying much attention to his breathing patterns anyway.

Usually, Sehun wakes up when Junmyeon starts crying. He’s always been a light sleeper. But now that he’s making a conscious effort to stay awake, time seems to move like a marble through honey – sticky-slow and indistinct.

The only light in the room is the bitter white glow of streetlights threading through the gaps in the blinds. It falls on Junmyeon in dull streaks of pale grey, lines with hazy edges, so that when Sehun tries to focus on a band it seems to blend into the shadows behind it. There’s no colour anymore, not in the dark, but if Sehun closes his eyes he can almost imagine Junmyeon, painted in shades of coral and pink, chestnut brown and monochrome gold.

Sehun spends a while staring at a crack in the ceiling, hyperaware of how quiet the room is. It’s unnerving. After five years of rooming with Junmyeon, Sehun’s definition of silence at night has shifted to include tiny snores and gently rustling covers with the occasional deep sigh, but there’s none of that now.

And as it turns out, there’s a good reason, too.

It begins with shaking. If Sehun didn’t know better, he’d merely pass it off as Junmyeon being cold, because the fine tremors running through him are small enough to be mistaken for shivers.

Then the tears start, and Sehun is suddenly anxious because he doesn’t know when he’s supposed to speak up and _surely_ his heart is beating fast enough that Junmyeon can register that he’s not asleep, but in the end it doesn’t matter because Junmyeon makes this _noise_ , a distressed whine high in the back of his throat, and it’s on pure instinct that Sehun brings his arms up and wraps them tight around Junmyeon’s waist, and rolls onto his side so that Junmyeon is as close to him as possible.

He feels it as Junmyeon realises he’s not asleep, feels his spine lock straight and limbs go stiff, a choked noise escaping before he slams his mouth shut. “Sehunnie?”

His voice is small and breaks halfway through, cracks high and wet with tears, and it’s all Sehun can do to stop himself crying, because while keeping silent was bad, the panic in Junmyeon’s voice is infinitely worse.

“You’re okay,” Sehun manages to get out, squeezing Junmyeon extra tight, and when he loosens his arms a little Junmyeon seems to soften as well. “I’m here, and you’re okay.”

There’s a tense pause in which Sehun isn’t sure whether or not Junmyeon will push him away, but then something seems to break, and Junmyeon melts into Sehun, a shuddering sob gasped into the side of his neck, arms winding tight around him.

And even though it hurts so much more than simply lying there, there’s a relief, a strange sort of happiness that comes with the pain, because maybe now Junmyeon can come to Sehun when things get too heavy to carry on his own, and that’s all Sehun has ever wanted.

 

<><><>

 

When Sehun wakes up, Junmyeon is gone.

Has been gone for a while, if the faint warmth next to Sehun is any indication, and a glance at the clock tells him it’s far later than he usually wakes up.

There’s lively chatter coming from the kitchen, and Chanyeol is the special type of loud he only ever is right after waking up, so Sehun figures they’ve all had a lie-in. The disappearance of Junmyeon is strange, though, because he would usually stay with Sehun until Kyungsoo came and knocked on the door.

It isn’t until Sehun is in the bathroom, fully dressed and brushing his teeth, that he realises. The thought hits him so hard he almost drops his toothbrush, dread crawling down his spine and weakening his knees.

There’s probably a reason Junmyeon never woke Sehun up those nights, a reason the red, puffy eyes and watery smiles were never mentioned. And Sehun has just potentially ruined whatever trust led Junmyeon to feel comfortable enough around him to be reassured that nothing would be mentioned.

It’s with great reluctance that Sehun drags himself out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. At first glance, everything looks normal, and Sehun tries to tell himself to calm down. Any second now Junmyeon will walk in and everything will be fine. But two minutes and one cup of coffee later, Sehun is almost completely certain that nothing is fine, because he hasn’t seen Junmyeon yet and Kyungsoo somehow managed to burn the coffee, and Kyungsoo has never burned coffee before, not once in the entire time Sehun has known him.

The kitchen is loud, which is inescapable considering Chanyeol and Jongdae are apparently having a competition over who can out-talk the other, so Sehun pours himself a glass of milk and wanders into the living room.

And immediately finds himself wishing he never left the kitchen.

Junmyeon is on the couch, being hugged by Baekhyun. Something wickedly sharp stabs through Sehun’s chest, and for a long moment he can’t breathe, eyes burning and throat tight.

Realistically, Sehun knows he probably shouldn’t feel as betrayed as he does. But the jealous, possessive part of him that was so completely convinced that yes, maybe this time Sehun could keep someone for himself without a time limit, feels like he’s just had three rounds of an automatic shotgun fired into his sternum from close range. It _burns._

But undeniably the most painful thing about it is that Sehun has done this to himself. _He’s_ the reason Junmyeon no longer feels comfortable with him.

It’s his fault, and it’s all Sehun can do to hold himself together until he’s back in his room, in a bed that smells too much like tangerine and chamomile, like worn sweaters and late nights, like comfort and safety and a home Sehun doesn’t know if he has anymore.

 

Sehun escapes the dorm that afternoon for the studios, sneaking out when everyone is either in their separate rooms or gathered on the couch to watch a movie. It’s one of their rare days off, but Sehun is pretty sure he’ll drive himself mad if he doesn’t do something to shut his brain up, so practice it is.

It’s almost too easy to lose himself in it, to be dragged away from reality into a constant cycle of sharp movements and thrumming bass, heavy breathing and stolen beats before being swept under again.

There’s a different type of pain that comes with pushing himself hard in practice, a tangible, physical pain that Sehun revels in. It’s duller, throbbing rather than piercing, and it’s a relief.

Sehun dances until his legs give out, then stretches until he can stand up again. Every warning they’ve ever been given by their dance instructor, horror tales of pulled muscles and torn ligaments and cramps and sprains and hospital trips echo blankly through Sehun’s head, and he thinks that maybe everything would hurt a little less if he just stopped feeling for a while.

Then again, every glance at the door that stays resolutely shut hurts far more than any of Sehun’s muscles, so perhaps not.

Eventually Sehun reaches a point where he can’t manage to convince himself to get up again, so he grabs his phone to turn off the music. The time glares at him, three white numbers that speak far more of Sehun’s isolation than the closed door.

It’s half past one, and Junmyeon is nowhere to be seen.

 

All motivation to practice is lost after that, so Sehun forces himself to grab his bag and lock up the room for the night. The corridors are dimly lit, only the low-wattage bulbs left on overnight, and the lights in the stairwell flicker as Sehun walks down to ground floor.

He leaves out the side door, into a brightly lit alleyway that leads out onto the main street. Technically, the company has drivers on call at all hours, but Sehun doesn’t want to make someone get out of bed after midnight just to come and take him back to the dorms, so he calls a cab instead.

The driver thankfully seems to recognise that the last thing Sehun needs is conversation, so the trip is fifteen minutes of nothing but silence. The walk up to the dorms is similarly so, except that even at this time there’s still the occasional murmur of conversation behind closed doors, or the faint strum of a guitar.

The lights are off when Sehun opens the door, which comes as no surprise, and he manages to navigate the hallway without bumping into anything.

It takes a good two minutes to psyche himself into turning the door handle though, and it’s with a bitter taste in his mouth that Sehun steps through and realises the room is empty. It’s been cleaned, too, something that hasn’t happened in a few months. All of Junmyeon’s clothes have been tidied into the closet, and his bed is made.

Junmyeon’s pillow, however, is gone.

Sehun’s bed remains untouched, covers scrunched up at the foot of the mattress, pillows scattered against the headboard, and his eyes start burning just a little when he recognises his sweater, the one Junmyeon was wearing with the weirdly shaped tea stain, folded and placed neatly in the middle of all the chaos.

Everything still smells like Junmyeon, but it’s too cold and too quiet and all Sehun wants is for Junmyeon to be next to him, warm and safe and everything Sehun needs, but that’s not going to happen because Sehun has never been good at holding onto the people he wants to keep. So he lets himself break in the silence, wishing more than anything that he’d known how to make Junmyeon stay a little longer, because Sehun isn’t sure he knows what to do without him.

And when he wakes up in the middle of the night, shying away from shadows and whispers for the first time since their debut, Sehun doesn’t think he’s hated anyone as much as he hates himself, because that’s his own fault, too.

 

<><><>

 

It takes six days for someone to realise that Sehun is really not okay.

That person, unsurprisingly, is Kyungsoo.

He corners Sehun just after they’ve all woken up, wrapping small fingers around Sehun’s wrist and dragging him to his and Jongin’s room. Jongin, who somehow sleeps through the entirety of Sehun’s protesting, apparently wakes up just in time to hear him spill everything to Kyungsoo.

It therefore comes as a large surprise when Jongin, who Sehun had last seen asleep, wraps his arms around Sehun’s waist and pulls him down into his lap - the shock of which, coupled with an overdose of sleep deprivation and complete aversion to unexpected surprises, has Sehun bursting out in tears.

There’s a clumsy, rushed sort of scramble upon seeing Sehun’s tears, which isn’t a surprise at all considering the only people who have ever seen him crying out of anything but happiness are Junmyeon and Luhan and probably their manager, but Sehun doesn’t think he counts.

It ends better than Sehun thought it would, with him being sandwiched between a very concerned Jongin and Kyungsoo. He muffles apologies into Jongin’s chest but finds himself wishing it were Junmyeon instead, so that Sehun could wrap his arms around him and bury his nose in soft chestnut hair and _sleep_ for a while, because the shadows are harder to fight off than Sehun remembers, and he’s getting _so tired_.

 

They inevitably get the call to go to practice, and Jongin and Kyungsoo act like bodyguards the entire way down to the van, each taking one of Sehun’s arms and linking hands.

There isn’t enough space to stay like that in the car though, so Sehun takes the free seat and leaves Jongin and Kyungsoo by themselves. Chanyeol and Baekhyun have commandeered the back seat, with Junmyeon squished in the middle. Sehun catches his eyes as he sits, and almost flinches at the raw, agonised depth to them.

There’s a vengeful sort of satisfaction in knowing that Junmyeon hasn’t gone to anyone else for help, but it just ends up leaving a sour taste in Sehun’s mouth. It’d hurt, but Sehun would prefer to see Junmyeon happy again, even if it was someone other than Sehun who made him that way.

The moment is gone as soon as Sehun breaks eye contact, resting against the window and setting his head on the glass, but the look in Junmyeon’s eyes haunts Sehun all the way to the studios.

An hour into practice, Sehun’s lack of sleep is starting to become painfully obvious. He’s missing beats, movements sloppier than usual, and whenever they take a break the world gets a little hazier as soon as Sehun stands up again.

It gets to the point where Sehun is up the front and completely misses the cue for the next section of choreography. It takes far too long for Sehun to blink back to coherency, but when he does the first thing he hears is Jongdae, whining about wasted time and then turning to Sehun, saying “Aren’t you supposed to be on the dance line, Hunnie?”

It’s mockingly cruel and everyone knows it, but perhaps Sehun has underestimated the amount of mistakes he’s made because no one says anything.

There’s a blank fifteen seconds where everyone is silent and Sehun just looks around the room and wonders why the floor is suddenly so interesting, before he lands on Junmyeon. And God, is Sehun weak, because even after everything, there’s still a part of him that hopes Junmyeon will say something in Sehun’s defence.

But he doesn’t.

The silence stretches into something unbearable, reality hitting Sehun like a punch to the gut. Everything burns as he grabs his bag from the corner of the room and escapes out the door just in time to run into Jongin coming back from the bathroom.

There are already tears falling, and Sehun curses himself for breaking like this, twice in one day, not even attempting to hide it as he ducks past Jongin and breaks into a run.

He almost falls down the stairs taking them two at a time, but all he knows is that he needs to get out, needs to get away from the practice room and everyone in it. One of their drivers is waiting out the front with a car ready to go, and Sehun doesn’t even question why he’s there, just gets in the back and chokes out a “dorms” before burying his face in his knees.

 

The dorm is quiet when Sehun opens the front door. It’s to be expected, since everyone is at practice, but it’s still strange for Sehun to step inside and not hear Baekhyun laughing, or Chanyeol being scolded by Kyungsoo for stealing food.

And even after almost a week of nothing, it’s still strange for Sehun to walk into his room without Junmyeon.

The blinds are angled away from Sehun’s bed, so that slivers of light stripe patterns on the covers of Junmyeon’s. Sehun smothers himself under a mountain of blankets, buries his face into the tea-stained sweater which somehow still smells like Junmyeon, and tries to forget everything.

It doesn’t work.

But even though he knows it won’t help, that he’ll wake up feeling worse than before, Sehun can’t stop his eyes closing, so he lets himself be dragged away by the shadows underneath.

 

When Sehun jolts awake, it’s to the faint sound of the front door latching closed.

But the shadows are still whispering, and Sehun can’t help the way he backs into a corner, clutches that stupid sweater like a lifeline and watches with a mix of terror and longing as the door handle is twisted, then swung open.

It’s Junmyeon.

He’s breathing a little heavy, as if he just ran up the stairs, and there’s a frantic, worried spark adding to the depth of his eyes. They look a little red, like he’s been crying at some point, and Sehun can’t help the sharp little thing in his chest that constricts at the thought of Junmyeon in pain.

The steps Junmyeon takes to approach the bed are tentative, and Sehun wants nothing more than to reach out and grab him and never let him go, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do that anymore and it _hurts_.

It takes far too long for Junmyeon to reach the edge of the mattress, but when he does he sits so he’s angled towards Sehun and looks down at his hands.

Like this, he’s profiled against the blinds, the faint light from behind making it appear as though he’s glowing. And Junmyeon has always been achingly beautiful, but like this, fragile and raw and a little bit desperate, Sehun looks at him and finds it hard to breathe.

Then he raises his head, and there’s a long moment where Sehun looks at Junmyeon and wonders whether he’ll ever be able to get rid of the pain he sees, but then Junmyeon is moving closer and Sehun can’t breathe again.

“Sehunnie,” Junmyeon exhales softly, and the dam breaks.

Tossing blankets to the side, Sehun leans forwards and picks Junmyeon up, settling him in his lap. Arms thread tight around his waist, and Sehun shifts Junmyeon until there’s no space left between them, nosing his way into a warm shoulder.

And just like that night, it starts with the shaking, but this time Sehun just tightens his arms and presses in close, melts into the comfort Junmyeon somehow still manages to provide, even as he’s falling apart, and lets himself shatter, too.

Junmyeon when he breaks is whispered apologies, shaking breaths and muffled sobs into Sehun’s shoulder. He’s tangerine and chamomile tea, warm sweaters and late nights, and comfort and safety and shared insecurities, and a home built specially for two.

And when everything is calm, and Junmyeon is tucked against Sehun’s chest, head resting on his shoulder and breathing steady and slow into his collarbones, he’s the soft brush of knuckles against a cheek with a whispered good morning, gentle fingers threading through newly washed hair, linked hands and tight hugs and little kisses pressed light on Sehun’s chest, over his heart.

 


End file.
